


Mission Status

by Satine86



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Background Character Death, F/M, Gen, Sexual Tension, Swearing, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: Infamous arms dealers and a need for revenge are the least of Agent Carlyle's worries when he meets his new teammate: Anne Wheeler.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [secret agent man plays in the distance]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [secret agent man plays in the distance]

Agent Phillip Carlyle stood quietly, waiting in the wings while his superiors spoke about him as if he wasn’t there. He kept his back straight and head high despite the fact he felt like a child waiting to see the principal. The only thing that gave away his discomfort was his tight grip on the folder in one hand, his fingers going white around the edges. 

“You truly support this?” The CIA director was a harsh woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun with a shrewd face. Phillip knew she wasn’t a woman to be trifled with, and not just because of her position. 

“I do. I have full faith in Agent Carlyle and his abilities,” was the terse reply. 

Hearing the words from his supervisor bolstered Phillip a bit, and he tried to keep his face neutral as he cast an appreciative glance toward Lettie. Her smile in return was little more than a tick at the corner of her mouth, but he saw it all the same. 

“Very well. Carlyle?” The director finally turned her cool gaze onto him. “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

Phillip walked forward until he reached the end of the conference table, and made sure to meet the director’s gaze squarely. 

“I know to everyone here I’m just a pencil pusher. I track numbers and search for patterns, but I’m very good at it. I have also completed the same training as every other field agent, and no one--” here he stopped and dropped his folder on the table, pulled out the neatly stapled packets of paper and slid them down the line. “No one,” he repeated, “understands Markov better than I do.” 

He fell in line, hands folded behind his back, and waited while everyone glanced over the report he had provided them. He knew everything it contained by heart, had been compiling the information for the past fews years. Phillip knew it all front to back, and back to front. He knew he would be indispensable if they actually wanted to take down Markov and his organization for good.

Markov -- real name unknown -- had appeared on the CIA’s radar some years ago. A black market buyer and seller dealing in military grade weapons, and then some. He sold to anyone who had the means, and had seemingly built up an empire. There were cells the world over with ties to all sorts of illegal ventures. Markov liked to have a finger in every pie, as it were. No one knew anything beyond the breadcrumbs they had been gathering for years, but Phillip was determined to uncover the truth. 

“Yes, but you have a very personal reason for that, do you not?” The director arched a perfectly sculpted brow. 

“I do, ma’am.” Phillip swallowed thickly and took in a deep breath. “Markov murdered my handler, Agent Barnum.”

“So you can understand why I’m not overly keen to let you out into the field on this particular mission. Especially when it would be your first.” 

“Not my first, ma’am.” He met her gaze again. “I was there when P.T. died. I asked to be kept on desk duty after the initial inquiry was finished.”

“Yet you want me to trust you by putting you on this rather significant assignment? I think everything you’ve said, and everything in your personal file spells out a recipe for disaster, Carlyle.” 

“May I speak freely, ma’am?” 

That earned him a wry smile. “You may.” 

“I think it would be supremely foolish not to utilize my knowledge of the subject. I have studied every aspect of Markov. Every arms deal, to every connection and known cell in his entire organization. I was read in on everything Agent Barnum had compiled as well. I know him and how he operates. And,” he leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, his gaze unwavering. “There is no one in the entire agency who wants to bring him down more than I do. So with all due respect, ma'am, you can’t afford to _not_ let me in on this assignment.” 

“You still have fire, I'll give you that.” She sighed heavily and slid the report away from her while glancing at the rest of the department heads. 

Phillip was vaguely away of Lettie shifting in her seat. It was difficult to discern what that meant without looking directly at her. Still he kept his gaze forward, fixed of the director at the head of the table.

“Unfortunately, I think you're right. It would be foolish not to utilize your considerable knowledge.” She turned her shrewd gaze on Lettie once again. “It appears you have your intelligence officer, Agent Lutz. I suggest you introduce him to the rest of the team ASAP.”

“Yes, ma'am.” 

Once dismissed Phillip and Lettie filed out of the conference room. The moment he was far enough away from prying eyes Phillip stopped, and sank back against the wall with a heavy sigh. 

“You did good in there,” Lettie said and clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“That's nice because I think I might puke now.”

Lettie snorted, hooked her hand around his elbow and started dragging him down the hall. “Pull yourself together, Carlyle. We have somewhere to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS GUYS GUESS WHO'S ON THE TEAM, YOU'LL NEVER GUESS! Unless you guessed Anne in which case you would be correct. lol
> 
> I meant for this to be more like Chuck (this was originally inspired when I did a rewatch of that) but then I also recently watched The Americans so who knows anymore.
> 
> Also sorry P.T. :/


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one is under the impression that I know what I'm doing LOL

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Anne dipped her hand into the chalk pouch at her hip and reached for the bright blue hand hold above her head, pulling herself up in one graceful motion. Climbing indoors was hardly her favorite activity, it lacked the rush and beauty of scaling a rock face with nothing to guide you but your own senses. However, it was a fine way to keep in shape when you were stuck at the compound waiting for news about your new op.

“I need more slack,” Anne called over her shoulder when she tried for the next hold, only to find the lead had gone taught. “W.D?” She frowned and glanced over her shoulder, to the ground where her brother was supposed to be spotting her. 

He was still there, the rope in his hands, but his attention was turned onto Agent Lutz and a newcomer Anne hadn’t ever seen before. A new recruit or a transfer, probably. Agent Lutz had mentioned someone else hopefully joining the team, which Anne knew had been the cause for their delay in getting things under way. 

Interested in this turn of events -- and seeing as she wasn’t about to get any further in her workout -- Anne loosened her tether and plummeted to the floor. Only when her feet were about to crash into the mat did she tighten it again, landing with a soft _pat-pat_. She quickly undid her harness and made her way to the trio currently staring at her. Her brother had a glare firmly in place, which she returned with a sweet smile.

“I hate it when you do that,” he muttered when she stopped beside him. 

She shrugged nonchalantly before turning her attention onto the newcomer, who appeared to be trying not to gawk too openly. He wasn’t succeeding. It was kind of cute, like a puppy. Although he really should learn to have a better poker face. Anne jerked her chin toward him.

“Who’s this then?” 

“This is Phillip Carlyle,” Agent Lutz made the introduction. “He’ll be joining our team as intelligence. Phillip, this is Anne Wheeler. W.D’s sister.” 

His eyebrows shot up at that. “Brother and sister? Isn’t that a little… unusual for the agency?” 

It was unusual, that was true. Especially given the fact they worked the same assignments. But that hadn’t hindered them yet. 

“We work well together, besides you need to trust your partner.” 

“Right,” Carlyle nodded. His demeanor changed slightly, almost withdrawn. “Trust is important.” 

“Where are the others?” Agent Lutz asked. “I’d like to make the rest of the introductions.” 

“Last I saw of Deng Yan she was at the range getting in some target practice. Constantine is probably in the weight room.” Anne brushed her hands together, knocking off the excess chalk. “Everyone is getting a little punchy, ma’am.” 

“I’m aware, and I am sorry for the delay. There was some… red tape to take care of.” 

That was surprising, and it certainly caught Anne off guard. It seemed it caught W.D. off guard as well, judging by the sidelong look he gave her. Red tape usually meant dangerous, or reckless. Or, in the odd case, off the books. She started unwrapping her wrists, and tried to seem unaffected.

“That so?” she asked lightly. 

“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Carlyle interjected. Anne’s gaze snapped up to him, and he shifted where he stood. He seemed a fastidious sort, his suit well tailored and his shoes polished to a high sheen. Definitely above and beyond the usual regs. “I’m primarily an analyst, the department heads weren’t exactly thrilled with my going out into the field.” 

“I see,” W.D. said. He sounded unimpressed, and frankly so was Anne. The last thing they needed was a desk jockey to look out for. At least that explained his fastidiousness. He never saw any action. 

“However,” Agent Lutz said, a firm edge to her voice. Apparently she knew their line of thinking. “Everything that you’ve read and been briefed on concerning Markov has come from Agent Carlyle. He will be indispensable in this operation, which is why I pushed to have him join the team.” 

That certainly didn't leave much room for argument, in Anne's opinion. W.D. seemed to agree, judging by the way his shoulders relaxed. But that didn't mean the situation was ideal. It just… was. 

“I would like to have a meeting with you all soon. Carlyle has been briefed, but I think it would be good for everyone to be on the exact same page.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she and W.D. said in unison. 

“I'll find the others, and we'll meet in an hour.”

Anne nodded, cast Agent Carlyle one last appraising glance and brushed past everyone to head for the locker room and a hot shower. This was going to be a strange operation, she was sure of it. 

 

***

 

She watched him for a while, curiosity getting the better of her. It had been two days since Agent Carlyle had officially been brought into the fold, and Anne was still trying to figure him out. Watching him now she supposed she shouldn’t be too surprised that he appeared to be in good shape, judging by the way he was laying into the punching bag in the corner of the gym. 

It was quiet, after hours, and he hadn’t noticed her yet. His focus was unwavering, almost as if the punching bag were something -- or someone -- in particular. Although just being able to pass a stress test didn’t necessarily mean he could handle himself in the field. Maybe it was time for a little test of her own? 

“Hey,” Anne finally made herself known, detaching from the shadows and making her way toward him. He stopped mid-swing and caught the bag, stopping its slow swaying motion. 

“Hi. I didn’t know anyone else was here.” He stooped down to retrieve his towel, swiping at his face and damp hair. 

“You need to learn to pay attention to your surroundings, agent.” 

He laughed lightly. “I figured I was safe in the compound, but I’ll keep that in mind, ma'am.” 

Anne took a few easy swings at the punching bag while he plopped down at the side of the mat, taking a swig from his water bottle. She knew his gaze was on her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It was a little too singular. 

“You seem to be in pretty good shape for a desk jockey.” 

“They still make you take the yearly physicals even when you’re locked up indoors.” 

“But it’s been quite a while since you’ve gone through training, hasn’t it?” Anne spun and hit the bag with a rather vicious roundhouse kick. She looked at him and quirked a brow. “You still got the moves, desk jockey?” 

“Why do I feel like this is a test?” 

“Maybe because it is.” Anne moved toward the larger mat in the middle of the room, and crooked her finger at him. “Let’s go.”

“You want to spar?” 

“I just want to see what they teach you when you’re all locked up indoors.” She fell into a defensive stance. 

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and clambered to his feet, dropping his towel beside his empty water bottle. When he stopped in front of her he mimicked her stance. “Basics?” 

“Yeah, it only seems fair. I have more black belts than you.” 

“No need to brag, Wheeler.” He smiled at her, and for some reason that seemed just as disarming as any actual offensive maneuver he might know. 

Anne tried not to dwell on that too much as they fell into an easy sparring match. He was quick, with good enough reflexes, but she was quicker. There was no doubt he was stronger, but after years of sparring with W.D. she had learned how to counter that, to use it to her advantage. He made a grab for her, obviously in hopes of grappling and trying to strong-arm her. Anne dropped down and swept his leg. He crashed to the mat with a muffled _thump._ She couldn’t help laughing a little as she offered him a hand up, he returned it with a weak scowl. 

“You’re doing better than I thought you would.” Anne grinned at him. 

“Thanks?” He shrugged, a little incredulous. 

Round two went on a little longer, since he had obviously gotten over his hesitancy to actually throw a punch. Anne was glad for that, it put them on more even footing; made it a bit more of a challenge. At least until Anne got a grip on his arm and tripped him the mat. With one simple twist his shoulder would be dislocated. The match went to her. 

After a quick rest they took up their positions again for round three. They went on like that for some time. Bout after bout. Carlyle always trying his best but never quite managing to gain the upper hand. Although Anne could appreciate his tenacity. As well as the fact he was definitely a lot more skilled than she had originally given him credit for. 

Eventually they both started to slow, their movements getting a little sluggish. Anne knew without either of them saying a word that this would be their final round. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of Anne’s neck, and she struck out. 

Blow after blow was knocked aside, but she had him on the defensive. Soon the tables turned, and she danced out of his reach. Then her opportunity came, one misstep and his guard dropped. She grabbed a firm hold on his arm and yanked him off balance, then in a fluid movement she turned and stooped down in order to fling him to the mat with the shoulder throw. The only problem was that he had enough wherewithal to get a hold on her as well, effectively taking her down with him. 

They landed in a heap on the mat, a tangle of limbs as they began to grapple for the victory. Here, Anne was at a slight disadvantage, but that wasn’t about to stop her. She managed to wriggle away from him just enough to get a little leverage and shoved him onto his back. Anne pressed her slight advantage and moved on top of him, her knee resting on his throat. 

They were both breathing hard and drenched in sweat as she hovered over him. It was in that moment Anne really noticed how blue his eyes were. Shockingly so, and framed in lashes that seemed entirely unfair. 

“A little pressure and I would crush your windpipe. I believe that crowns me the winner?” She pressed down a little to prove her point. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice strained. 

Anne withdrew and clambered to her feet, sucking in deep breaths and trying to calm her racing her heart. She shook out her arms and legs before offering him a hand up. He took it gratefully. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” His voice still sounded a little tight as he rubbed a hand over his neck and throat. 

“So I’ve been told.” Anne dropped her gaze, the comment catching her a little off guard. “You’ve got more moves than I gave you credit for. Maybe you are cutout for field work after all?" 

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” He laughed. At least he seemed to be taking his loses in stride, that was more than she could say for a lot of her fellow agents. 

“Anytime. See you later, Carlyle.” 

“If you ever want to spar again? Just let me know, Wheeler.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She gave him a cheeky smile and turned to leave the gym. Anne was fully aware of his gaze following her the entire time, could practically feel his eyes on her skin like a beacon. That fact left her more off kilter than anything had during their matches.


End file.
